Too Lost In You
by ToryTigress92
Summary: Sometimes there is more to a person than what one sees in public. Beneath the veil can lie passion and fire, but only one person holds the key to unlocking them in Elizabeth Norrington nee Swann. And she might just learn to love along the way...


Too Lost In You

* * *

><p>Elizabeth watched with sad, but resigned, eyes as Will disappeared over the battlements with Jack. The sun beat down, the heat seeping through her dress just as it had done the day Commodore Norrington proposed to her.<p>

The day before the pirates came to Port Royal, and everything changed.

Or so she had thought. A sea breeze lifted the ringlet off her neck, and she breathed deeply of the scent of salt and coconut. The scent of freedom.

Tender hazel eyes met hers, and she smiled weakly.

* * *

><p>Will never came back. Elizabeth gazed at the gown she wore, the golden sheen overlaying the white satin, the veil hanging from her curled hair, and summoned a smile.<p>

She was a polished pearl, demure, ready to be plucked, or so she looked. What she was, was something else entirely. An ice maiden waiting to be melted?

But there was no flame in her life to melt the ice in her, to quench the thirst in her. The fire in her world had gone out the day Will Turner had hit the ocean beneath the Fort's parapet.

"You're doing the right thing, my dear," her father's voice in her ear made her turn, as her hands clenched tightly around the bouquet of yellow roses in her hands. "I am so proud of you."

She smiled. Weakly. She had done plenty of smiling in the weeks since Will and Jack's escape.

She supposed she would smile until her dying day.

* * *

><p>Hundreds of eyes followed her up the aisle of the chapel, towards a groom who stood with his typical stoic façade in place, but she could see his skin was as pale a white as his powdered wig.<p>

Eyes lowered demurely, she didn't begin to raise them until her father had kissed her cheek, and she took the Commodore's hand to the altar. Then she did, and instead of vibrant hazel, she met fiery brown. Blinking, she looked away from the face of Lieutenant Andrew Gillette, and to her fiancé, soon-to-be husband.

The ring on her finger felt like a chain, binding all she was beneath the veil of the Governor's daughter, to her new life.

* * *

><p>She found she felt nothing as she stood in her bedroom, waiting for her husband to come to her. The nightgown hung from her shoulders, deceptively demure.<p>

Demure. Demure. That was all she was expected to be and would never be.

He came towards her, brown hair cut close, the coffee dark strands stark against his pale skin, his shirt slightly open to a view of his chest, crinkles of hair covering its broad expanse. His touch was gentle as he reached out and pulled her to him, though not roughly.

"I know, Elizabeth, that you do not love me," he began in a hoarse whisper, as she started. "But could you love me?"

Elizabeth looked up at deep, tender eyes that would love her, if only she would let him. "I will try," she breathed, as a sad smile stretched James' lips. Sorry for his fate, and for her own, she lifted her face, offering herself to him.

* * *

><p>James was tender and gentle, touching her like she was made of spun glass. He was everything she could want in a lover, and a husband. Patient, kind, faithful, dutiful and everything a woman could want.<p>

A fine man.

She was not a fine woman. She was selfish, and she was wild, and until that day when Will had thrown himself from the parapet with Jack, she had always had everything she wanted.

Not anymore. She had finally learned the lesson that she couldn't have everything she wanted. Life did not flow in that way. Loss was an everyday part of life. She could say she no longer loved Will, but that would be a lie. It would be an equal lie to say she loved him, because she did not know how to truly love anyone.

But she tried. She wore her smile, her best pearls, her finest silks and she tried to love James.

* * *

><p>Until one day brown eyes filled with ice met brown eyes filled with fire once more. It was momentary and it was small, but that look, full of disdain and disapproval drew Elizabeth like a lodestone. Perhaps it was because he was the only one who did not like her, who did not approve of her marriage to the Commodore.<p>

Lieutenant Commander Andrew Gillette.

He had been promoted since the battle of Isla Muerta, his bravery in the face of adversity and his loyalty to his commander as much a legend as the man he followed.

He stood beside her in the Assembly Hall, her husband conversing with her father and the commanding officer of the garrison in Kingston. She could see his friend, Lieutenant Groves, dancing on the floor with the eligible Miss Harrison, and envied the girl her innocence.

Her eyes left his, and she looked away until she felt his gaze leave her. Elizabeth looked back, and studied him. It was better than any other face to study. She had never really looked at the officer before. He had always struck her as haughty, sardonic, at times cold and arrogant.

His face was round from the front, smooth and almost childlike, but from the side his cheekbones were chiselled and visible, the line of his nose defined and strong.

"Does my visage fascinate you, Mrs Norrington?" he suddenly asked, turning back to her. "Or is there some other point to your perusal?"

Memory of another conversation, one where she was left humiliated and frustrated….

"_Sorry. It's for your own safety!"_

"_I don't care! I have to tell him! The pirates are cursed, they can't be killed!"_

"_Don't worry Miss, He's already informed of that. A little mermaid flopped up on deck and told him the whole story…"_

Caught, Elizabeth flushed and looked away. "Hardly, Mr Gillette, although I do believe you owe me an apology," she trailed off, as he swung to face her.

"May I inquire what for?"

"I was right about the pirates," Elizabeth replied.

His face blank, politely cool, he turned away. "You are not the sort of lady I feel obliged to apologise too, Mrs Norrington. Good evening," he bowed mockingly, before moving away, leaving Elizabeth both angered and intrigued beyond her conscious desire to be.

* * *

><p>The next time they met it was four months later, at yet another Assembly ball.<p>

They were talking in a group, her, James, and a smattering of eligible ladies and officers, including Gillette.

"A toast," James suddenly proposed, raising his glass. "To Lieutenant Groves and his fiancée, the lovely Miss Harrison. Long may your happiness continue!"

Elizabeth echoed the toast, as Gillette kept his glass raised. "And fruitful may it be too," he continued, prompting a roar of laughter from the group, a blush from Miss Harrison and a playful glare from Mr Groves.

Surprised at the bout of mischievousness from the dour Lieutenant Commander, Elizabeth stared at him.

"Marriage is an important obligation in an officer's life, Mr Gillette," she began quietly. He glanced at her sharply. "When will we see you treading the path to the aisle?"

"Marriage is one obligation I do not feel the need to fulfil," he replied shortly. Elizabeth smiled wickedly.

"What obligations do you fulfil, then Mr Gillette? Our conversations in the past have not led me to any belief in your gentlemanly ways," she murmured, too low for any to hear except Gillette, who now openly glared at her.

"Commodore," he suddenly addressed her husband. "May I have the pleasure of the next dance with your wife?"

Stunned, Elizabeth could only stare as James smiled at her warmly. "If Elizabeth is agreeable?"

She nodded once, allowing Gillette to lead her to the dance floor, where a country dance was to begin. Elizabeth curtsied gracefully, before locking eyes with the man opposite her. It felt oddly like pitching a battle.

"Now, madam, since we can speak freely without suspicion, what did you mean by your remark?" he asked coolly. Elizabeth followed him through the motions of the dance, finding him surprisingly as well-versed as herself, with a masculine grace.

"In order to answer that, Mr Gillette, you must answer this," she replied, pausing while her hand was claimed by a second partner, then they were brought together again. "What exactly did _**you**_ mean by saying I was not the sort of lady you felt obliged to apologise to?"

Gillette smirked superiorly. "Proud, spoilt, duplicitous; the list goes on, madam," he replied. Elizabeth glared at him.

"You are cruel, sir. I may be selfish, and I may be proud but those are traits you yourself possess, I have heard. Why am I duplicitous?" she asked angrily. The dance brought them face to face, paused while other couples flowed around them like a river when it reaches a boulder in its channel.

Gillette scoffed. "Madam, you agreed to marry the Commodore just so you could save your precious blacksmith."

"Which promise I fulfilled. I could have run with Will and Jack that morning on the parapet, but I did not," she glared at him, mistaking the heat in her body for anger as his hand engulfed hers for the next measure.

"What a paragon of virtue you are, Mrs Norrington," he sneered, infuriating her further. "You are forgetting something. Your marriage vows; to love, cherish and obey. Somehow I do not see you fulfilling any of those conditions."

"I could have you thrown from the Navy for such words to me, Lieutenant Commander," she hissed, as he glared at her for a moment.

"So do it," he growled.

Elizabeth was silent as she stared at him, his gaze intent, his cruel sneer gone. "I am a selfish woman, Mr Gillette," she whispered, almost guiltily. "I yearn for something I cannot have-"

"The blacksmith," Gillette's lip curled, but Elizabeth carried on, silencing him.

"To be loved as I truly am, not as society perceives me to be. Will and even James…they have only loved me from a distance, they do not know how to love me now. I do not know what love is, but I do know myself. And I burn, Lieutenant Commander. I burn and I fear if anything touches me, it will be utterly obliterated."

"Then it appears, Madam, that we have some kinship there," Gillette finally said, releasing her hand and bowing correctly before escorting her back to James.

* * *

><p>Soft lips dragged along her neck, as she tilted it back and moaned. Her fingers clung to a muscled, scarred back as she bit her lip, her eyes tightly shut.<p>

A hoarse voice breathed in her ear. "Elizabeth."

But Elizabeth stayed silent as her husband collapsed upon her, spent. Her body trembled and her heart raced, but it was not her husband's name and face which lingered behind her eyelids. It was another, with broad shoulders and freckled skin. Fiery auburn hair and a smooth, round face.

_Andrew..._

* * *

><p>It seemed they could not speak without quarrelling.<p>

"Why do you hate me so?" she finally broke, making him follow her to a secluded corridor, shrouded in shadows, the flickering light from the lanterns providing little light in the sultry Caribbean night.

"Don't flatter yourself, Madam. I care not a fig for you," he snarled back, as she walked up close to him.

"If you care so little, you would not treat me with such scorn. Scorn is not indifference, Mr Gillette," she retorted heatedly. "What have I done to harm you?"

"Not me, but my Captain and your husband," he spat back. "You string him along like a lovestruck puppy, giving him hope that one day you may love him back, all the while pining for your blacksmith like a dog on heat!"

"How dare you!" Elizabeth's fists clenched, her nails biting into her palms. The scarlet silk of her gown rose and fell with the harsh cadence of her breathing, the Lieutenant Commander's not much better. "Did you not remember a word I said to you at the Spring Assembly? I am trying."

"Weaving a façade, no better than a common whore," he replied coldly, despite the heat glittering in his eyes, turning them to amber flames. Elizabeth raised her hand to strike him, rage overcoming any sense of propriety, the flat of her hand making a hard _smack_ against his smooth cheek. Incensed eyes met hers, and she almost backed away.

Almost but not quite, before the tempest in his eyes. Now she knew what he meant when he said there was kinship between them.

Gillette's hand snaked around her neck, forcing her lips against his. She fought, realising her actions would likely only confirm her status as a whore in his eyes if she kissed back, as every part of her _yearned_ to do. To respond to the fire in his eyes, in his mouth, in his lips as heat overwhelmed her sense.

Struggle turned from one kind to another, closed lips turned to biting, searing kisses, rough hands tore at silk and satin, gentler, elegant ones popped buttons from their moorings and slid inside to feel rock-hard muscle beneath soft skin, and calloused fingers played in the fire pulsing inside of Elizabeth. The roughness of the wall thudded against her back with each desperate thrust, each urgent joining of their straining bodies, their lips fused to prevent passionate moans escaping into the torrid air.

It was unrelenting and urgent and fast, and everything she yearned for, she craved and she needed, with every slide of Andrew's body into her own, tearing down barriers between them, her skirts thrust up around her hips, her pale legs slung around his hips. The gold brocade of his uniform coat rasped against the skin exposed by her open bodice, and he ducked his head to one aching mound, torturing it further.

His name escaped her lips, and his lips returned to drink in the sound, as his thrusts became more erratic and somehow more demanding, taking her all. Heat built in a tidal wave, overwhelming Elizabeth until she was deaf and blind to all else and she fell limp, open to his possessive taking until he too slumped against her, spent, his warmth surging inside her.

He raised his head, panting, as she did the same, brown eyes to brown eyes, and something flashed in those inscrutable depths. His lips met her swollen ones in a tender, gentle kiss.

"Am I now truly a whore in your eyes?" Elizabeth asked some time later, as she rearranged her gown, hoping that the torn petticoats could be explained as getting snagged on a bush. She turned and watched the young Lieutenant Commander pensively, aware that she had proved his theory true, and that she had betrayed James.

"Never," he replied quietly, before bowing deeply and walking away without another word.

* * *

><p>"I'm leaving," James' voice forced Elizabeth from her thoughts, as she embroidered in their parlour. "There have been sightings of the <em>Black<em> _Pearl_ in our waters, and I must investigate them."

"Of course you must," Elizabeth sighed. "But please, James. If Will and Jack must pay for their crimes, give them a quick death, not one at the end of a noose."

"I can make no promises," James shook his head sadly, as he knelt before her. "I cannot let them go this time, Elizabeth."

"I know," Elizabeth smiled sadly, reaching out a hand and stroking his cheek. Guilt filled her at the memory of her interlude with the Lieutenant Commander a few weeks earlier, and she leaned forward and kissed him. "I also want you to know…I'm with child."

* * *

><p>James was overjoyed at the news of a child, even though it would not get him off of the assignment. Elizabeth was less joyful, although she appeared it for James' and her father's sake.<p>

The truth of the matter was, she did not know who had fathered her unborn child.

A fact she knew Andrew guessed, the moment she met his eyes at the dinner when James announced their news. He had clapped James on the back, courteously congratulated her and bowed over her hand.

The moment he disappeared, so did Elizabeth.

As she hurried along a hallway at her father's mansion, she felt her arm pulled, into an alcove and she was spun to face the pale and concerned face of Lieutenant Commander Gillette.

His name slipped from her lips before she could stop it. "Andrew…"

"When were you going to tell me of the child?" he asked in a fierce whisper.

"I don't even know if it's yours or James'," she hissed back, his grip on her arm unflinching and almost painful. It brought back memories of their tryst and the passion he had bombarded her with. "I have no way of knowing, until the child is born."

Andrew flung away from her, pacing agitatedly. Elizabeth watched with concern.

"I didn't plan this. I'm sorry," she whispered.

Andrew turned back to her. "I am to blame as well," he sighed. "We should never-"

"I know, we should not. But as wrong as it is, I cannot regret it," Elizabeth breathed. Andrew glanced at her sharply, face implacable.

"James can never know," he murmured. "We can never meet again, like this."

Saddened, Elizabeth nodded. "I care for him, deeply. Bring him back to me, please," she whispered pleadingly. Andrew nodded once, and walked away.

* * *

><p>A month later, Elizabeth stood at the docks where the <em>Dauntless<em> floated, watered and victualled for its tour of duty, the men already scurrying across its rigging, preparing to set sail.

"Take care, Elizabeth," James murmured in her ear. She knew he would not do something so scandalous as to kiss her in front of the assembled crowd, as much as she wished he would. His hand ghosted over the gently swelling rise of her belly, and she smiled, surprised by the tears in her eyes.

"You too, James. Come back to me," she whispered, and his face lit up at the sincerity in her tone. As he kissed her hand, the one where his ring sat glimmering in the sun, her heart burst into full flame. Her good, kind, loving James.

She could love him.

* * *

><p>Days turned into weeks, and then into months, and Elizabeth drew closer to giving birth. She spent much of her days sitting and waiting, keeping a weather eye on the horizon for white sails.<p>

For her husband.

Rumours came, and she prayed for James' safe return. And for Andrew's, in the deepest recesses of her heart. The two lovers of her self, the one who loved her deeply, the other who was fire to her ice, passion for desire, roughness for wildness. She could not regret their interlude, but neither would she entertain thoughts of another. He had his duty and she her husband and unborn child. Her life, if not entirely full, was content.

And she loved James. She did, and when he returned to Port Royal she would hand her heart to him along with their firstborn child.

* * *

><p>The ninth month came, the seventh since the <em>Dauntless<em> left port, and Elizabeth was delivered of a son.

_James_.

The moment the nurse placed him in her arms, she saw the vibrant hazel eyes peering up at her, and the shock of dark hair atop his head, and she smiled, full of love for her son. For James' son.

She would name him for his father.

There was a pang, an unfulfilled dream of auburn curls and brown eyes, but she pushed it away. She was content, she was more than that, she was happy.

* * *

><p>"Elizabeth?"<p>

At her father's voice, she looked up from cradling James to her, and felt her heart sink from the grave look on his face.

"The _Dauntless _has returned," he told her. "There was a hurricane off of Tripoli, they were caught in the storm. James…"

Elizabeth shook her head, as she rushed to the window where she could see the port, and the hive of activity around the stricken ship. No, no, no!

She would only accept it from one person, and one person only. Still cradling James, who are crying now as he sensed his mother's distress, she rushed out into the hallway, to find him there.

Andrew.

He was pale and gaunt, a healing slash across his cheek and he walked with a limp. He turned at the sound of her footsteps and she stared at him.

"Is he…? Is James?" she asked, her voice trembling. Andrew's eyes flashed with pain, and she rushed at him.

"No! NO! You said you would bring him back! You said-!" she pummelled him with her fist. His arms came around her, holding her steadfast, calming her more than her father's panicked entreaties or the wet-nurse's insistent calls to give her the child. No, she needed her James. Her James who would never leave her.

"Forgive me, Elizabeth. Forgive me," she heard his hoarse tones in her ear, and she clung to him, crying at last, as he rocked her and the son which might have been his.

He was fatherless now.

* * *

><p>James had been buried at sea, as was the tradition. He had been crushed while pushing a midshipman out of the way when the mizzenmast fell during the tempest off of Tripoli. Thirty men had been lost along with their captain and Commodore, and Gillette was now the Captain, and acting Commodore.<p>

Since there was no body to bury, Elizabeth had a marble stone placed in the garden of their home, overlooking the sea and the port where the husk of the _Dauntless_ rested in its berth, slowly being regenerated. There was no such regeneration for James.

The wind blew a fragrant breeze the day Elizabeth stood before the monument with her son in her arms. Andrew and Groves had brought back some personal effects, his sword which would hang above the mantelpiece until their son was ready to wield it, and the ring he had worn, a gift after his promotion to Commodore. Eying the flash of gold on her own finger, Elizabeth let the tears fall beneath her mourning veil, as she knelt and traced the words of the inscription on the marble.

_James Norrington_

_1715-1748_

_Soldier, Sailor, Captain, Commodore, _

_Husband and Father_

_Rest in the sea's embrace, thy duty be done._

Such inadequate words to describe the man Elizabeth had known and had taken for granted. And had loved.

"Your father was a good man, Jamie," she whispered to her silent son, his large hazel eyes solemn and round. He reached out a podgy hand, and touched the cold marble, springing a new wave of tears from her eyes.

"We'll make sure he knows James, his father," a voice suddenly promised, as a strong, calloused hand squeezed her shoulder. She looked up into burning brown eyes and a smooth, round face. Behind them stood Lieutenant Commander Groves, newly promoted in the wake of Andrew's promotion to Captain, and beside him stood his wife Catherine Groves nee Harrison, and her father. "We all will," Andrew murmured, a silent vow in his eyes.

With a shiver, Elizabeth turned back to the monument and stood gracefully, Andrew's hand lingering for a moment before it fell. _Goodbye James. I love you…_

* * *

><p>Two years later, it was a boiling summer's day as Elizabeth stood in the Fort, surrounded by ladies and gentlemen, her peers, and the military. James was at home with his nurse, now a strapping toddler of two years, and his father's son in every way.<p>

Her fan fluttered in the scant breeze, and her dress clung to her soft figure, as the marines marched out, the band played a military tune and her father waited, looking proud and pleased as a figure in white and gold brocade, robed in Naval blue, stopped and waited.

"Two paces out!" someone called to the marines, as they carried out their drill almost seamlessly. "About turn! Rifles up!"

It was all so familiar, a déjà vu scene, and Elizabeth almost shivered. But it was not the same, she was not the same. A gold wedding band glittered on her finger, her figure was softened by childbirth, and the gown she wore was not so tightened that she would be in danger of fainting. The gold-coloured concoction was her first outing from the black widow's weeds she had been wearing, and she shifted uncomfortably in the heat, the sweat on her neck making her curls cling to the slender column damply.

A man walked gravely and confidently through the archway of bayonets, his jaw set, his eyes stern. Captain Andrew Gillette, soon to be Commodore Gillette, ceremonially bowed his head as the medal was placed around his neck, then accepted the sword from the Governor, testing its balance and twirling it expertly before he sheathed it.

Life had gone on in Port Royal, James' death barely a drop in the ocean of life. Men died everyday, women lost their husbands and children their fathers. And still life went on.

* * *

><p>"May I have a word?" a familiar voice murmured in her ear, interrupting Elizabeth conversation with Mrs Groves about her latest pregnancy. She turned to find Andrew watching her, his arm extended courteously, the blue and gold flashing in the warm Jamaican sun.<p>

"I must find Teddy," Catherine smiled genially at Elizabeth. "You wouldn't happen to know where I can find him, Commodore?"

"Come now, Cat, I think we have known one another well enough for you to call me Andrew," he smiled, a lopsided one which sent Elizabeth's heart fluttering. "I think I saw Captain Groves over by the buffet."

"Why am I not surprised?" Catherine laughed, before leaving Andrew and Elizabeth with a curtsey and a touch on her golden sleeve. Feeling oddly breathless, she took his arm, curling her fingers and feeling the strong muscle beneath them. Strength she had known, once upon a time.

He led her to the parapet, handing her up to stand by the wall, looking out to sea.

"How is Jamie?" he asked, firstly. Elizabeth frowned, he had only seen the boy yesterday.

"Fine, he's probably running amok at home, giving his nurse hell," she smiled, as Andrew chuckled. That lopsided grin flashed again, and Elizabeth couldn't help but return it. But then that frown returned, and Elizabeth's own with it.

"Commodore, what is it?" she asked, touching his arm as he looked out to sea.

A wry quirk of the lips before he spoke. "Once, long ago, you spoke to me of obligations," he began, as Elizabeth remembered that conversation from another time. "The obligation I find my new station recommends is a highly pleasant one, more pleasant than I had anticipated."

"Marriage," Elizabeth nodded, despite the fact her heart was sinking. Had he asked her up here to ask for recommendations for suitable ladies? "I suppose the space by your side needs filling. You're a fine man, Andrew, finer than I knew at first. You'll find a good woman."

"I don't need a _good_ woman, or _fine _woman," he suddenly retorted heatedly, making Elizabeth flinch. "I detest the very words," he looked down and away. "And you yourself, Elizabeth. Have you plans to remarry?"

Looking away now, eyes on the horizon, Elizabeth felt as if James stood beside her again, just like that hot day when he had proposed, at his promotion ceremony. The oddness of the question caught her, and she frowned. "Why are you asking me this?" she breathed, as a stray breeze played at her ringlets.

When no answer came from the enigmatic Commodore, Elizabeth turned to move away but his hand on hers stopped her.

"Wait."

That one word, enthused with command, but gentle, as their interaction had never been. They had rarely touched since James' death, and they quarrelled often about nonsensical things, but Elizabeth's heart fluttered at the touch she had missed in the darkest recesses of her heart, heretofore swamped beneath the love she had felt for her poor James.

He pulled her back to him, coaxingly, like she was a wild deer that might shy away at any moment, and she soon found herself closer to him than she found comfortable. Or perhaps found it too comfortable.

"I care for you, Elizabeth. I care for Jamie too, like he is my own son," he murmured, as Elizabeth swallowed. Were it not for Jamie's striking resemblance to his father, Andrew could very well have been. "This promotion is everything I have ever dreamed of, when it comes to my career, but also it brings to light how much I have missed. I have never known what Cat and Teddy have, what you and James had for all too short a time. I want that, Elizabeth, I want to come home from a voyage to know you and Jamie are there, waiting for me. To know I have a home, a family, and love. Something worth fighting for, beyond duty to the Crown…"

Elizabeth trembled, as her heart pounded in her breast. "Andrew, I'm a widow and I'm already considered on the shelf. Society will expect you to pick a young lady, not old goods like me…" she began quietly, but he cut her off.

"Society can go hang itself. I will marry whom I choose, if she will have me," he replied equally as quietly but vehemently. At his final words, he drew Elizabeth's hand to his lips, kissing it gently but with a desire she remembered. And heaven help her, she remembered it well. "I know our relationship has been…conflicted up till now, but let us work it out together. I can imagine spending my life with no other woman but one who simultaneously fascinates me and exasperates me."

Trying to still the shaking in her hands, Elizabeth touched one to his cheek, where she had slapped him oh so long ago, and it had led to this. Who could have foretold it, the two angry lovers in that dark corridor, utterly immersed in one another, would one day come to this?

Andrew's lips ghosted across her palm, and she shuddered. There was so much passion beneath that polite, correct surface, beneath the brocade and the jacket blue, and she could already feel its magnetic tug.

Perhaps it was time to give in. James was dead, Will had been gone nearly three years and why should she live a life half empty? She had her son, and she loved him fiercely, but at night her soul cried out for the touch of a lover. And despite her assertion to the contrary, their peers would hardly look at the match askance. Some would think it highly romantic, the new, dashing young Commodore and the previous Commodore's widow.

"Marry me," Andrew pressed, as she smiled and looked down.

"On one condition," she murmured, looking up. His face was stern, hard, totally implacable.

"Name it,"

"Kiss me, here, now," she breathed. As Will might once have done, as James would never have done. His jaw set, and his hand released hers to rise to her jaw, cupping it and tilting it upwards as he moved closer. His fingers curled around her nape, and he pulled her lips to his, not roughly, but with an irresistible pull driven by need. She was insensible of the wind, of the sun, of the cry of the gulls above them, or the roar of the sea crashing against the rocks below. She knew only Andrew as his lips covered her own, pressing on her a kiss that could have been forged of fire.

She slid her hand onto his neck, resting it on the sliver of skin showing above the collar of his coat and necktie, the silky tail of his wig playing over the back of her knuckles.

He released her, and she would have stumbled if she hadn't held on to his neck and coat, his hand still on her jaw. She looked up into his eyes, and felt herself fall.

"Your answer?" he asked, his voice a husky growl.

"Yes," was all she needed to whisper before his lips reclaimed hers.

* * *

><p>Their wedding was a smaller affair than her first to James. Despite Andrew's promotion, she was a widow, and thus needed no grand event. Beside neither cared for grand soirees, despite her father's incessant hand-wringing.<p>

The world seemed to flash past, and all Elizabeth could truly remember about it were images. Teddy's face as he made his best man's speech, eliciting blushes from them both, Jamie's laughing face as Andrew picked him up and placed him on his shoulders, the taste of wine, the smell of the orange blossoms which hung everywhere, and Andrew's lips upon her own, sealing their union before God and man.

And now they were alone, man and wife. Suddenly nervous, Elizabeth jumped when she felt his lips against her neck. A soft moan escaped her lips and she sank back into his heated embrace, tilting her neck to the side.

His to claim as his own.

It was like a dam had burst, and a wellspring of fiery need that had existed in them both overflowed. Her world became one of sensation, the hardness of the wall against her back, then the soft cushions of the bed, and then his body, harder than the wall, yet his touch was softer than the finest silk.

"Don't," she gasped against his lips. "Don't treat me like glass. I will not break."

After that, even her ability to feel anything beyond him dramatically lessened. She finally saw the shade of his hair in the golden candlelight, a deep, burning red which twined around her fingers like liquid flames.

She was finally his. Perhaps more than she had ever been Will's or James'. She was Andrew's.

* * *

><p>"I have to go on patrol," he told her, one wet, steamy afternoon, after he had returned from the Fort. Startled, she glanced up at him from her book, and felt her lungs seize. She had lost James to duty, and she might now lose Andrew and the happiness she had found.<p>

Their marriage over the past three months had not been the smoothest, but with their temperaments, neither had expected it to be so. But Andrew was a loving father to Jamie, and a passionate husband and lover to Elizabeth.

And even odder still, they had almost become something like friends. Friends who quarrelled and then made it up in equally loud and unrestrained expressions of passion, but friends nonetheless.

"When do you leave?" she asked, looking down at her book so he could not see her fear, and her tears. It was useless, as his hands gently tilted her chin up, so her eyes met his. A moment later, his lips were on hers and he was pushing her back onto the chaise, her hands pushing away his uniform coat as his hands guided her skirts up her thighs.

* * *

><p>"I will come back to you," he whispered in her ear that night. "I love you."<p>

Torn from her sleep, Elizabeth turned her head to look at her husband and touched a hand to his cheek, just beginning to show the morning stubble. "I love you," she replied. She had never said it before, not to Will. She had never got the chance to say it to James. She would not forgo the chance now.

* * *

><p>A month after the <em>Dauntless<em> left port, Elizabeth began feeling ill. She vomited in the mornings, and her body ached, particularly her breasts when her corset was fastened in the morning. She knew the signs; she was with child.

Andrew's child.

She was overjoyed at the thought of another child, and her father was ecstatic at the thought of another grandchild. Jamie, oblivious to how a child was conceived, merely smiled and placed his small hand on her stomach when she told him the news that he was to have a baby brother or sister.

* * *

><p>She began to visit the Fort, looking out to sea, hoping for a glimpse of white sail, of a fluttering pennant, for the British flag on a shining bow.<p>

Many remarked on it, and some smiled at the obvious show of devotion. Mrs Gillette was a very changed woman from the flighty, spoilt but brave young maiden who had been kidnapped by pirates.

"When will Papa be home?" Jamie asked one day, as she read to him. She stroked his dark hair, and sighed as she looked into hazel eyes so like his birth father's.

"Soon, I hope, sweetheart. Soon," she replied quietly. When Jamie was taken to bed by his nurse, she sat up awhile, sitting and looking out the window, seeing in her mind's eye her husband standing at the helm, his tricorn hat and pearly wig, the bright blue coat and the flashing gold brocade.

There came a sudden creak on the floor behind her, and Elizabeth froze. Quickly, she grabbed James' sword from the mantelpiece, unsheathing it and holding it out towards the intruder. Andrew had been teaching her how to defend herself.

But she almost dropped it when she saw her visitor. It was Will.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, standing in the open doors which led out to the terrace, the drapes flying around him in the breeze almost dramatically. "You are married?"

"As you see," she breathed. "What are you doing here?"

"I…I came back for you. I heard that the Commodore had passed, and I…." he stumbled through his words, as she glanced over him intently. He had aged, his boyish youth gone, his face a little weathered from days out at sea no doubt, and his clothes were bedraggled. Oddly enough, the pounding in her chest was not what she thought it might be, after all these years. She felt nothing towards him.

"It's too late, Will," she murmured, as he took a step forward. "I remarried."

"We could run. I've missed you so much," he whispered painfully, but Elizabeth just shook her head. "Elizabeth, I love you. I should have said it more often, but it's true, as true now as it was then. I love you."

"And I loved you once, William Turner. You loved me from a distance, but I doubt you would love me now," Elizabeth replied. "I love my husband, Will. And I carry his child, and await his return."

"You're with child?" Will asked, looking surprised. But the curve of her stomach was discernible through the skirts of her dress. She nodded.

"My second," she replied, a hint of pride creeping into her voice. Will looked stricken, and looked down. Pitying, Elizabeth stepped forward and stroked his friend.

"Old friend, I will always care for you but our destinies were never meant to be joined. Your life has taken you one way, mine another and I would not have it otherwise. Go, live your life and take my prayers with you, William Turner," she whispered, kissing his cheek before he turned and fled.

* * *

><p>The incident with Will caused a cloud of worry to descend on Elizabeth's heart. What if the<em> Pearl<em> encountered the _Dauntless_? What if Will met Andrew?

That she could not bear the thought of.

* * *

><p>Some months later, the <em>Dauntless<em> still had not returned and Elizabeth grew anxious. Anxious enough that it triggered an early labour, so that her and Andrew's daughter was born, two weeks before she was supposed to.

Knowing that Andrew's mother had been Irish, she decided on her name.

Moira.

She had her father's bright hair in adorable tufts, and she looked around with alert brown eyes that seemed to twinkle with mischief.

Moira.

Their daughter smiled, and Elizabeth melted, as Jamie gazed rapturously at his little sister.

* * *

><p>She was cradling Moira to sleep one sunny afternoon when she glimpsed the first white sails on the horizon, and her heart leapt. Gathering Jamie from his afternoon lesson, she pulled on her hat and took the carriage down to the Fort, taking Jamie's hand as they climbed to the parapet, where James had proposed to her, where Will had fallen out of her life, and where Andrew too had proposed to her.<p>

Sure enough, the _Dauntless_ sailed proudly into its berth, its sails a little worse for wear but ultimately unharmed. Nudging aside the urge to wave, Elizabeth watched for a familiar upright figure in the sea of men below.

"There, Mamma!" Jamie pointed, his young eyes finding his stepfather easily. With a smile and a light heart, Elizabeth left the parapet, leading Jamie down to the docks, waiting in the shadows of the Fort until she saw him, tall, vibrant and very much alive as he strode along the docks in his phalanx of officers.

"Papa!" Jamie cried, rushing forward and slipping his hand from Elizabeth's. Surprised, Andrew laughed nonetheless as he swung the small boy into his arms, his officers smiling indulgently.

"There's my boy! Have you been good for your mamma?" he asked the dark haired lad, then he noticed Elizabeth and the swathed bundle she carried. She moved forward, as his jaw slowly fell open, and Teddy grinned at her, winking.

"Hello, Andrew," she laughed at the dumbstruck look on his face. "Meet Moira, our daughter."

There really could be no doubt she was his, even if he wanted to. The vibrant red hair, the direct gaze as little Moira looked assessingly at her father. Then she raised her arms imperiously, with all the dignity of a queen, and Elizabeth gave her to him.

"Moira," he whispered. "My daughter."

"Don't I know it?" Elizabeth joked. "She can out-bellow you every time."

The assembled officers laughed, then drifted off to their tasks, allowing their leader a few precious moments of reunion with his family. He looked at her then, at the graceful woman before him, slender, golden in her yellow day gown and hat, her pale skin glimmering in the harsh sunlight.

His wife, his family.

"Thank you," he whispered, suddenly tugging her lips to his. She met him with all the passion within her, suppressed inside through his absence and her pregnancy. "My love, my wife."

"You came back to me," she replied through her teary smile. "That is all the thanks I need."

"No mere hurricane or pirate will ever stop me from coming home to you," he replied earnestly, as their lips met again. Crushed between them, Moira cried out indignantly, and they parted, laughing.

"Mr Groves!" he called to his second in command. "See to the ship and the men. I will-"

"See you tomorrow morning, Sir!" Teddy grinned wickedly, then bowed to Elizabeth and walked away.

"What about-?" Elizabeth began concernedly, but Andrew's finger on her lips hushed her.

"Hang the work. I will catch up tomorrow. Right now my family is all I need," he told her quietly. "And you."

That last was added in a husky undertone, sending shivers down her spine.

Taking her husband's arm, Jamie in the other and Moira supported in the crook of Andrew's strong arm, she walked with her family to their carriage.

* * *

><p>That night, she lay sated atop her husband, hair spread wildly over his chest, luxuriating in the bliss of his fingers stroking her soft skin soothingly. The rain drummed down outside their window, and the air hung heavy. Too warm, they had kicked back the covers so the moon's rays played over their skin, a tangle of limbs which looked impossible to separate.<p>

Elizabeth looked out on the moon, lying in her husband's arms, loving as she was loved, and felt truly at peace, her restless soul sated.

She held no regrets, as she idly remembered that morning when Jack had escaped his execution, Will had left her, and she had resigned herself to staying with James. She could regret nothing, because it had led her here, to Andrew, to the family they would build together. They were two souls in union, forged together by fire and passion, in a way she never was to James or to Will. She would always regret never telling James she had come to love him, but she would never regret that heated interlude in that corridor which had led to this moment.

To Andrew. She was lost in him, caught in him, his hold on her heart and body too deep to be dislodged. Even if she wanted to, she could not.

She, Elizabeth Gillette, nee Swann, widow of James Norrington, wife of Andrew Gillette, mother of James and Moira, was content.

_**Fin**_

* * *

><p>Written for my beloved Lieutenant Gillette who, if you have seen OST, deserves a tribute. And I wanted to see if I could write GilletteElizabeth, and I think I succeeded. R&R?


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